


Joyeux Noël

by beckalina



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckalina/pseuds/beckalina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slice of life from the household of Ron and Hermione Weasley, taking place on Christmas Eve. (Mentions Harry/Draco)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joyeux Noël

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 12/25/2002

"It was wonderful to see you, Fred. Pity Angelina couldn't come along as well, but I know how hard Apparating and Floo travel are during the third trimester. Give her our best!" A soft popping noise let Hermione know that Fred had safely Apparated, and she charmed the door locked with her wand.

"I still don't understand why you won't let anyone Apparate inside of the house," a voice spoke up from behind her. She turned to face her husband and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Because, Ron," she began, her tone reminiscent of the one their professors had used when speaking to Neville Longbottom, "it scares Bella. It startles her when people suddenly appear and disappear in front of her, and it takes ages for her to calm."

Hermione smiled fondly at the redheaded toddler who was playing with a joke wand in the shadow of an impossibly large Christmas tree. She laughed as her daughter gave a delighted squeal when the wand suddenly turned into a giant stuffed phoenix. The area of carpeting around the tree was littered with bits of brightly coloured wrappings and assorted trinkets--mostly toys for the two year old, who was currently holding court in front of a large pile of various stuffed species.

"We have to get her used to it eventually." Ron sat down next to their daughter and reached into the pile of stuffed animals, blanching when he pulled out a rather detailed plush spider, "Which one of those stupid gits gave my Bella this bloody disgusting thing? Fred?"

"Language," she reminded sternly, gesturing at the giggling child, "and no, I think it was George."

It had become a tradition in recent years for the Weasley family to gather at the house of the youngest son on Christmas Eve. Generally, it was a rather noisy affair, ten fiery haired grandchildren running about while the adults drank whiskey laced tea and nibbled on the chocolate and peppermint biscuits that seemed to be the one thing Hermione was particularly adept at cooking. Christmas Day was therefore reserved for the in-laws, and Ron and Hermione would be taking their daughter to the Granger's for a Christmas tea after opening gifts from Santa in the morning.

Isabella was just coming into the age where her belief in Father Christmas would develop, and her parents had begun the traditional illusion the year before with her first Christmas. There was something undeniably precious about a child's unwavering conviction of the man's existence. Ron was counting the days until one of his nieces or nephews finally eschewed the belief and took it upon themselves to inform all of the younger children. After all, it was what Fred had done to him at the age of six. It had taken three hours of wailing and more than a few chocolate frogs to rectify the grievous offence.

The bits of wrapping flew all around where Ron and Isabella sat as Hermione banished them into a small dustbin with her wand. He picked up a quite obviously expensive plush dragon and raised a quizzical eyebrow at his wife.

"Draco," she nodded, confirming his suspicions. A flick of her wand neatly tied the top of the trash bag and she turned her attentions to the toys littering the small parlour. A few blocks cuffed Ron's ear on their way to the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ron knew to hold his tongue when it came to the topic of Draco Malfoy. The man had been a great asset to them during the fight against Voldemort, sure. But he was still an arrogant prat who walked about as though the ground was blessed to feel the touch of his expensive dragon hide loafers. Ron didn't understand what Harry saw in the git, but they'd been together for almost a year now, so he supposed it had to be something. Maybe Malfoy was a demon in the sack. The very idea of that made Ron shudder like someone had told him they were buying him a pet spider.

"He makes Harry happy," Hermione muttered absentmindedly, as if reading her husband's thoughts, "And--"

"That's all anyone can ask for," he finished with a derisive snort. They'd had this argument several times, and Ron could almost quote it verbatim. He glanced down at the toddler who had crawled into his lap and rested her small head against his chest, "Bella's absolutely knackered. All the excitement, I guess," he leaned down and smiled at her, "Is daddy's Bella ready for bed?"

"Nigh-nigh," the childish murmur confirmed.

"I'll get Bella tucked in." He stood, hefting the drowsy little form in his strong arms.

The nursery had only recently begun it's conversion into a proper child's room, and Isabella's old crib lay in pieces next to the closet, her new 'big girl bed' in its place. He found that all of her nightclothes needed cleaning and quickly summoned a fuzzy pink sleeper from the living room, a gift from his sister, Ginny. Adorned in a fresh nappy and the footed sleeper, Isabella's head drooped against Ron's shoulder as he carried her across the room and laid her on her new bed. Once she was settled in, one chubby arm clutching a slightly battered rag doll, he turned out the light and quietly shut the door behind him.

Downstairs, Hermione had finished with her cleaning and was sitting on the sofa, a steaming mug of Earl Grey and Ogden's Old Firewhiskey warming her hands. Ron dropped down next to her, his arm automatically winding itself around her shoulders. He caught her lips in a quick kiss before leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

"This is the most time alone we've had all day," he commented.

"It is, isn't it?" Hermione shook her head, "If that child gets a single stuffed animal for her birthday or Christmas for the next five years, we are disowning our families and finding new friends. How many plush walruses does one two year old need?"

"She has enough of them, that's certain . . . Oi, what's this?" Ron grinned and pointed a few inches above their heads, where a sprig of fresh mistletoe was suspended in the air. Hermione gave a quick roll of her eyes but returned the grin all the same, capturing his lips in a very serious snog.

After a few minutes, during which both of them found their fronts suddenly doused with tea and whiskey, the couple parted and Hermione snuggled into Ron's embrace.

"I love you, you know. Happy Christmas, Ron." She wrapped her arms around his waist, ignoring the strong scent of the alcohol soaking into their clothes.

"Convenient, considering that I love you, too. Happy Christmas, love. Say, Bella's asleep . . . Why don't we . . . go upstairs?" Hermione didn't have to look up to know that her husband's grin had returned, this time with a devious edge.

"We will, don't be impatient. I just want to admire the tree a bit more. We outdid ourselves this year. It's gorgeous."

"Oh, yes, the tree looks nice," he moved back a bit and leered down at her, "But I've an even nicer piece of woo--"

"_Ronald Weasley_!"


End file.
